Bennett – Nash between them made a star, Rose once said. And Bennett spoke as if much humour lay behind his words. We knew how right he was. Nash and I laughed. So did the skipper. As the Aldebaran whined and rattled on its northward way we laughed till the tears splashed at our faces. Bennett didn’t believe it. There was more to it than that, his sombre face said. Beyond the gleam of riches was the challenge of getting our cargo – any cargo – to a destination. But that wasn’t entirely the case, either, and Nash was to prove it. I was making up stories which had no truth, a sign of moral depravity in the face of death.
His amiability came as a surprise, and I felt guilty of having doubted that we would reach dry land. Confidence came back. We weren’t losing height. Our airspeed increased. The outer engines, on full boost, seemed fit to run forever. ‘Believe you me,’ said Bennett when we stopped laughing, ‘as soon as I’ve disposed of what’s in those boxes, you’ll have a fair packet coming to you. I don’t forget good service.’
Nash said: ‘I realize that, Skipper, but those boxes will have to go overboard, all the same.’
The altimeter showed below three thousand feet. Nash was right, Bennett wrong. The simple values came uppermost at last. A ton in weight would keep us longer in the air, but a minute at a time was all we had a right to. Bennett pulled a whitened cigar from his jacket pocket and put it between his teeth. In his agitation he moved it from left to right like a piece of stick.
Nash glanced at me. I put my hand to where the revolver lay, unashamed of the value we had put on our lives. Bennett sweated with the effort of flying the plane. When he reached for his lighter, the hand on my gun tightened. He smoked for a minute or so. ‘All right, Mr Nash, open the hatch. Prepare to jettison cargo.’
I stood aside to let him by, a feeling of relief mixed with irritation. An operator on some ship not far off bounced his signals to all stations, whiling away his hours of boredom. Never so glad to hear that beautiful sparking rhythm, I tapped my call sign and the wireless operators’ laugh, and he replied with ‘Best bent wire’, and we played on the ether as joyfully as two dolphins sporting on the surface of a warm sea. I requested his QTH. He asked for mine. To respond was illegal, for no signal should go from ship or plane without the captain’s permission, but I looked at Rose’s chart and decided that our position was close to 42 00 South 71 30 East.
The controls were on automatic pilot and, suddenly remembering, I rattled down the steps, though for no reason – or so I thought – except that a feeling of dread swamped me as one rung after another resounded under my feet.
20
The hatch had gone into the sea. Nash stood in the patch of sky, ready to slide the first box out. We seemed to be gliding, without engines. My ears played tricks. A sunbeam like a scalpel – I almost felt its warmth – lay as if to cut my sleeve.
I pushed Bennett, half turned from me, doing what I did as if not yet born. The gap between each action was timeless because there were too many factors to measure. But not everyone has the opportunity of looking back, and so they go blind into action and never recover their sight.
The same with Bennett. His revolver fired during the lapse between the hand going forward and making contact with the cloth of his coat. I hardly saw the gun, perhaps not at all. Certain details will never become clear. I didn’t need to. My life passed in that moment from one authority to another, as if the ultimate word came back and told me what to do, taking thought out of responsibility and leaving me only with action.
Nash’s face, normally placid, showing a man to be relied on, with plenty of practical knowledge, a good share of courage, a temper lost only in the presence of fools, but flawed by being loyal at the wrong time and to unsuitable people, was a portrait of horror as the death-mist closed in. A hand went to his jacket where the bullet had left a zone of ragged flesh. Crimson liquid spurted from between his spread fingers. He swayed before I could reach him, and fell through.
I clutched the ladder so that my turn would not come, determined to prevent it as my finger eased down on the trigger. The rush of engine noise came back to clothe the senses – though there was little enough of what might have been there in the first place. He knelt, as if waiting for the sword of knighthood to tap him on both shoulders. I felt as if I had shot into myself, and almost wished I had, wanting to separate every minute of my life to find out what had led to it.
His hands searched the floor, felt the shape of each box like a blind man. He pulled the one nearest the door to safety, though with such steady flight it was in no danger of falling out. The universal clock never stopped ticking. He put on his cap, and when he stood I fired again. He brushed a hand across his face as if a bee had stung, and gave a grimace, almost a smile, of agony and surprise. I could not meet his eyes as he pushed by, but looked at the sea passing far below.
My foot caught the box that Nash failed to heave into the blue. I scraped my fingernails in sliding it over, fearful of being pulled out. The lid opened, and a stream of gold like a bird’s wing swung towards the water, lighting its grey track. I wanted to leap after it, but the action would not come. Boxes that broke went down in an arc of sunlight, darkening as they disappeared. Those that stayed intact spun like a depth charge, but made no visible splash as they hit the curving waves. I forgot where I was. My soul was in contact with happiness. I was in danger of being caught in the slipstream but, agile and confident, knew I could not go. At the end of such labour, reality rushed back, and I moaned so loud that I heard myself even above the noise of the engines – the reverse of waking from a bad dream.
The work wasted my spirit to the marrow. I expected to be engulfed as the flying boat touched water, but the loss of weight reduced our rate of descent. How Bennett climbed to the flight deck I’ll never know. I felt no surprise. He sat at the control column, staring towards the horizon. The altimeter read five hundred feet when I looked over his shoulder. He spoke.
‘What did you say, Skipper?’
‘We’re going in.’ The face below his cap-peak was carved in white marble, lips showing dissatisfaction at the state of affairs for which, his expression said, he blamed himself. His hand came to me, and I felt pressure from the ice-cold palm. The exhaustion from sending the boxes to oblivion made me afraid of the dark. His smile wrenched out of me a spirit that I never got back.
His voice was weak but clear when he said something about the fire-tender pinnace standing by. ‘Take care, Sparks. Emergency landing.’
I put on my safety belt. Determined to make the best touch-down of his life, he controlled the plane so as to meet gently the swell of an empty sea. My mind registered dreams rather than impressions. I could be dead immediately, but couldn’t have cared less. While holding their fearful chaos at bay, I knew that fate would have me in its power forever.
‘We tried,’ Bennett said.
There was one enormous bang after another, as if a giant hammered the hull with his fist, demanding to be let in. A rush of water streamed by. I thought we were already underneath, the Aldebaran like a hand fitting into a glove of water. The starboard engine cut, and when the floor came up my head struck against the clickstops of the transmitter. The port engine stopped, and we spun around. I thought the blood which poured was water as I rolled towards the ladder, an electrical shock pulsing through my arm.